


A Home of Four

by Zairielon



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Author Technoblade, Brothers, But Techno and Wilbur are basically adopted too, Family Bonding, Family Dynamics, Feel-good, Fluff, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Humor, I needed serotonin damn it, It's an AU where they're family, Light Angst, Mild Language, Musician Wilbur Soot, POV Multiple, Real Life, Sleepy Bois Inc Fluff, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, That's it, Tommy is the only adopted son
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-19 04:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29869152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zairielon/pseuds/Zairielon
Summary: Following several long months of infrequent visits and constant pressure from producers, a break in his career finally allows Wilbur to move back to London. Living with four people under one roof isn’t exactly easy (especially when one of those people is Tommy and another is Techno), but… it’s worth it to have the family reunited.(A variation on 5+1, capturing moments of the Sleepy Family as they adjust to having Wilbur home again.)
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Technoblade & Phil Watson, Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 10
Kudos: 120





	1. Easy Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! A brief disclaimer: this story is entirely fictional. I'm taking the personas of these wonderful CCs and weaving a story with those characters. In no way am I trying to assume how their real-life selves would act, especially in such an impossible scenario. And, should any of them express discomfort about fanfiction, this story will be taken down.
> 
> Now that that's out of the way, welcome! I love the SBI with my entire heart, so I finally caved and made a Sleepy Bois Inc!family AU.
> 
> I hope this story makes y'all as happy as it made me lol. Enjoy!  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> 5\. In which two brothers missed each other a lot, but would never ever say that out loud.

A peal of raucous laughter rose from somewhere nearby, and Wilbur instinctively looked up, searching for a mop of blond hair and a toothy grin. Neither was to be found. Disappointment bubbled up in his chest, but he immediately pushed the feeling aside. Wilbur had planned to get to the campus early. He'd even worn comfy shoes in preparation for standing for a long time.

Still... it had already been two long months. He couldn't help but feel a little impatient.

Wilbur tore his eyes away from the steady flow of laughing students and glanced further into the campus. All the buildings were made of polished stone and old brick, which made it seem modern and ancient at the same time. Wilbur shuddered. Thank god he'd gotten out.

But the campus didn't really matter. Wilbur had been waiting for almost 20 minutes, and he was starting to get worried.

His phone suddenly buzzed, and Wilbur flinched, turning his attention back to the conversation he'd been having.

 **Techno** : he gets distracted by everything. stop worrying

Wilbur chewed on his lip as he typed out a response.

 **Wilbur** : But I've been here for 20 minutes

 **Techno** : and

 **Wilbur** : You aren't concerned?? At all??

 **Techno** : no. he's probably talking to tubbo or smth

 **Wilbur** : You're not making me feel better

 **Techno** : did you really text me expecting comfort

Techno had a point. So, if Tommy didn't show up in the next ten minutes, Wilbur would text Phil, get Tommy's schedule, and go find his younger brother himself.

Someone laughed. Wilbur scanned the crowd, but it was still devoid of any familiar faces. Wilbur stifled his growing disappointment and shoved his pocket into his pocket, leaning back against the low wall. It was just typical of Tommy to keep him waiting.

Five minutes later, his phone chimed. Wilbur fumbled it out of his pocket and read the two short messages.

 **Tommy** : wheres philza

 **Tommy** : hes ignoring my texts

Wilbur rolled his eyes fondly.

 **Wilbur** : And your first thought is to text me?

 **Tommy** : stfu

 **Tommy** : you always know where he is

 **Wilbur** : He's not picking you up

Tommy stopped typing. Wilbur bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning at his phone. God, he could just imagine the surprised look spreading over his little brother's face. Several seconds later, Tommy resumed typing, which only furthered Wilbur's mental image.

 **Tommy** : dont tell me techno is coming to ge tme

 **Wilbur** : Nope

Another pause.

 **Tommy** : no fukcing way

Wilbur couldn't hold back his grin any longer. He stuck his phone back in his pocket and settled back to wait. A few seconds later, a shout rose above the general chatter.

“You bitch!”

The familiar voice made Wilbur's heart soar, even though the words were less than complimentary. Then the owner of the voice burst from the crowd. Tommy's hair was as messy as ever, and the blond boy's clothes were clearly rumpled from running. But Tommy's icy eyes shone brighter than stars.

“It's good to see you too, Tommy!” Wilbur called in return. He tried to get his stupid grin under control, but his face refused to cooperate.

“I've been wandering around for almost 20 minutes!” Tommy continued, seeming to completely ignore Wilbur's greeting. Instead, the blond boy hurried away from his peers with his hands flapping wildly and his eyes alight. “I thought I'd die of starvation before someone showed up!”

Subconscious habit flared to life, and Wilbur bit back, “I'm the one that's been standing here, waiting for you!” before he even fully processed Tommy's complaint. “How did you not fucking notice that Phil wasn't here for a whole half an hour?” he continued archly.

Tommy's face screwed into an expression somewhere between a frown and a smirk. “Did you get uglier while you were gone?”

“Oh, and you're blind now. Wonder how you'll look in glasses.”

“Better than you, but I always do, so.”

Tommy finally stopped directly in front of Wilbur, and the smart-ass retort Wilbur had prepared died in his throat. Somehow, in two months, Tommy had gotten taller. The blond boy was only a few inches shorter, and Tommy grinned up at him with sparkling teeth.

“You got your braces off,” Wilbur noted softly. He instantly cringed at how fond he sounded, and he hurriedly added, “Fucking finally. I thought you'd use up all our insurance on repairs before you got them off.”

Tommy's smug grin morphed into a gentle smile. “Yeah, a few months ago,” the blond boy mused. “Weren't you here for that?”

“No. You sent me pictures, but I wasn't here.”

“Huh. I didn't even notice.”

They could trade insults all day long, but Wilbur had plans. So he snorted in reply, then grabbed Tommy's arm and dragged his little brother away from the campus. Tommy shouted his complaints to the world at large, but Wilbur refused to let go until they made it all the way down the street. Once the campus was out of view, Wilbur relinquished his brother's arm.

“What the fuck was that for?” Tommy whined. He made a show of rubbing his wrist, even though his entire arm was protected by an oversized sweater (that was surprisingly fashionable, Wilbur had to admit). “That was child abuse. I'm going to call someone and get you arrested.”

Wilbur plucked at Tommy's sweater. “This is nice,” he noted, ignoring the empty threat. “Did you just get it?”

“No. It's-” Tommy flushed crimson. “It's, uh... I mean, Philza-”

Tommy continued to stammer out incomplete sentences, and Wilbur almost frowned at the lapse in eloquence. Though Tommy spewed vulgarity 90% of the time, the blond boy usually never had a problem expressing himself. Then a memory from several years past popped into Wilbur's head. A shit-eating grin spread across his face, and Tommy's jumbled protests grew louder.

“Is that my old sweater?” Wilbur asked slowly.

“No!” Tommy snapped. “It's-”

“Yeah, it is!” Tommy snarled and shoved his hands into his pockets, and Wilbur laughed delightedly. “Aww, Tommy,” he cooed, ruffling his brother's hair. “Did you really miss me that much?”

Tommy launched into a profanity-filled rant, but Wilbur patiently waited out the tirade. Eventually, the blond boy's embarrassment would fade, and Wilbur would get a real explanation.

Several seconds later, Tommy's anger finally petered out. The boy inhaled deeply, then muttered,

“Tubbo might have said that I needed some variety in what I wear. You weren't here, and I didn't know that you were coming back _today,_ so I stole it. Er- _borrowed_ it, I borrowed it. Yeah. I was going to put it back.”

Wilbur bit back a fond smile and looked his younger brother up and down. Tommy had chosen regular jeans to go with the ice blue sweater, which wouldn't have been Wilbur's first choice, but it looked decent. Besides... Wilbur couldn't find it in himself to be _that_ mad. Tommy had stolen his sweater, for god's sake.

“It looks good on you,” Wilbur said eventually. Tommy glared at him, and Wilbur raised his hands defensively. “I'm serious. Keep it.”

Several emotions flashed across Tommy's face, making Wilbur feel like he was watching a spinning wheel. Finally, a melancholy frown settled on the blond boy's face.

“Does this mean you're leaving again?” Tommy muttered. “I mean, fucking go, I don't give a shit. Do your thing, whatever. But... you're only nice to me when you're about to leave. I thought you said that you'd be able to stay longer this time.”

The barely-concealed sadness painted across Tommy's face made Wilbur's chest ache. Before he could stop himself, he slung an arm around his little brother's shoulders and tugged them together.

“Actually, I'm sticking around,” Wilbur said as casually as he could. Tommy looked up sharply, a spark of hope gleaming in his eyes, and Wilbur's heart warmed. “Yeah. I got a deal to record an album, but their recording studio is down here. So I reluctantly packed my stuff, left that tiny shit-hole apartment, and told Phil that I needed my room again. I'm lucky that you guys didn't turn it into an office or something.”

Tommy was silent, though the shine of his eyes spoke volumes. Finally, the blond boy nodded.

“I'm glad you're back.”

Tommy rested his head against Wilbur's shoulder for just a moment, and Wilbur squeezed his brother in return. Then Tommy shoved him away, and the moment was gone. But Wilbur felt like London was in full color again. Phil's and Techno's welcome had nearly made him die from happiness, of course, but... Wilbur hadn't really been home until he'd seen Tommy.

“Don't fucking touch me,” Tommy grumbled.

Wilbur shook his head a little. Yeah, he was definitely home. “Sorry that I wanted to give you a proper hug,” he scoffed. “I'm rethinking giving you a lift.”

“No balls.”

“Do you really wanna try me?”

Tommy opened his mouth, closed it, and leveled a glare at the sidewalk. Wilbur just chuckled and let his little brother stew.

For the next few minutes, they were mostly quiet. Tommy got a text from Tubbo and invested himself in that conversation, so Wilbur contented himself with looking around as they walked. London was so different from Manchester. The two cities were polar opposites. For a time, Wilbur had even thought that he liked Manchester better. Now that he was back, though... London was growing on him again. It was his home, after all.

“ _Tubbo_ fucking knew that you were coming back? Why didn't you tell me?”

Wilbur glanced over at the indignant cry. Tommy had abandoned his phone and was shooting Wilbur a betrayed look.

“He knew?” Wilbur asked mildly. In truth, he'd thought that Tubbo had been clueless about his return. But he couldn't pass up an opportunity to wind Tommy up a little.

“Yes!” Tommy wailed. “He said that you told him!”

Wilbur frowned. “Okay, well, that's not true.”

“You're a fucking liar.”

Wilbur snorted and gently whacked Tommy upside the head. The blond boy yelped, which attracted notice from several nearby pedestrians, but the hit had barely been more than a love tap. Wilbur ignored the rest of Tommy's loud complaining. Eventually, the tirade died down.

“So, where the fuck did you park?”

Tommy's phone had disappeared from his hands, and he seemed to be giving Wilbur his undivided attention. The selfish part of Wilbur's heart crowed in triumph. He quickly stamped the feeling down. In a few days, Wilbur would wish that Tommy would leave him the hell alone because his brother didn't know when to shut up. That was what always happened.

“Uh, not too far,” Wilbur said, waving a vague hand at the street ahead of them. “Bit of a walk.”

“'A bit of a walk?'” Tommy parroted in a terrible caricature of Wilbur's voice. “Will, I'm tired. I just got out of class, for fuck's sake. I didn't even have breakfast this morning!”

Wilbur barely kept from snorting. “Wonder whose fault that is.” Tommy made an incoherent noise of protest, and Wilbur tossed his little brother an unimpressed look. “Don't worry,” he drawled. “I didn't walk the whole fucking way here. Am I really such bad company that you don't want to walk, like, ten extra minutes?"

“You're shit company,” Tommy muttered darkly. “Where are we even going?”

“You said you didn't have breakfast, right? Well, it's almost 2. Figure you should have lunch before we go home. Makes it easier for Phil, too.”

A faint grin tugged at the corners of Tommy's mouth. “Lunch?” he repeated, clearly hopeful.

Wilbur chuckled, and he ruffled Tommy's hair once again, dodging the boy's batting hands with practiced ease. “Yeah. I'll even pay. But if you buy more than £20 of food, I'm leaving you on the street and driving home by myself.”

Tommy heaved a dramatic sigh. “No one in this city loves me.”

“Oh, come on, Tommy. _I_ love you, even if you're an annoying little shit literally all the time.”

Tommy muttered something and bumped Wilbur mid-step, sending Wilbur stumbling to the side. Wilbur steadied himself with a scathing remark already burning the tip of his tongue. Then his eyes landed on Tommy's brilliant grin, and the words faded away. Wilbur could be nice for a few hours. After all... he and Tommy would be at each other's throats soon enough.

Yeah, that was it. Wilbur hadn't missed Tommy at all. Not the inappropriately timed comments, or the constant nagging, or how the two of them had their own silent language.

None of it.

About ten minutes later (“This is at least 15 minutes away from the campus,” Tommy snarked. “Oh, shut the fuck up, Tommy,” Wilbur sighed in return), the two of them reached a small cafe proudly sitting on a street corner. It was tiny compared to the other cafes that littered London. But as soon as Wilbur saw Tommy's eyes light up, he knew that he'd chosen correctly.

“I love this place,” Tommy breathed, and for once, the blond boy's voice had lost its edge. He shot Wilbur an incredulous look. “Did you ask Tubbo or something? We come here all the time."

Wilbur shrugged. “No, didn't ask. I just... guessed.”

They quickly crossed the street, and once inside, Tommy made a beeline for one of the tables next to full-length windows. Wilbur followed at a slower pace, though he smiled at his little brother's enthusiasm.

“So I assume you're leaving the ordering to me,” Wilbur noted dryly once he'd joined Tommy at the table. Well, it was less of a table and more of a bar that ran against the window, complete with several bar stools. “And why'd you pick this spot? I'm going to be kicking the supports the whole time.”

“No, you won't,” Tommy said absently. The blond boy had pulled his phone from somewhere and was frantically tapping away. “The supports are two chairs down from us, and these two stools are a bit taller than the others. You'll be fine. Egg sandwich with sausage and extra egg, and a pack of shortbread.”

Tommy didn't look up from his phone throughout his little speech. Though Wilbur felt like grinning at Tommy's consideration, the blond boy was being a bitch. So Wilbur tugged the neck of Tommy's sweater, making his brother tip back and squawk like a startled parrot. Wilbur quickly skipped out of slapping distance, and he headed for the counter with a pleased smile and Tommy's “I fucking hate you, Will!” trailing behind him.

Somehow, that little scuffle didn't get them kicked out. Wilbur chalked it up to Tommy's frequent presence at the cafe and quickly ran through their orders. Wilbur decided on some soup that he couldn't pronounce and recited his brother's order word for word.

Once Wilbur had gotten his receipt, he slipped back to their table. Tommy's phone had once again vanished (Wilbur was becoming increasingly convinced that Tommy was just hiding it in his oversized sleeves), and the blond boy gazed out at the street. Wilbur slid into his chair and gently tapped Tommy's head.

“Where'd you go?” Wilbur chuckled. “You look like you're in another dimension.”

“Did Philza tell you that he's teaching me to drive?” Tommy said, which wasn't really a response, but somehow made perfect sense.

Wilbur cocked an eyebrow. “Really? And you haven't fucking killed him?”

“I'll have you know that I'm a damn good driver.”

“Uh-huh. Have you driven with Techno yet?”

“Shut the fuck up. Techno would crash into a lamppost just walking down the street.”

Wilbur could think of three different occasions when that had actually happened, so he reluctantly let the point die. Tommy's face creased in a self-satisfied smirk. Wilbur quickly flipped through his mental list of “Things to ask Tommy” for something to talk about before his brother started making fun of him. Luckily, a topic presented itself.

“Wasn't Tubbo being nominated for an award?” Wilbur wracked his brain for the rest of the conversation he and Tommy had had months previous, and slowly, the details returned. “Yeah, it was for programming or something. Don't fucking tell me I missed _that_.”

Tommy's face lit up. “Yeah, he is!” the blond boy said, and that single sentence conveyed all the pride Tommy had for his best friend. Wilbur bit back a wide grin. “Don't worry, you didn't miss it. His nomination is still in consideration since he's only 17, but the 'case' is a bunch of bullshit. I'm pretty sure he'll be one of the recipients at the ceremony.”

“Ceremony?” Wilbur echoed.

“Yeah. It's this stupid event that the college hosts for everyone 'worthy of commendation.' It's boring as shit, but if Tubbo gets an award out of it, I'll probably go. Support him and all that, y'know.”

Wilbur spent a few seconds mentally cackling at all the big words Tommy had used in tandem. The blond boy usually glared daggers whenever Wilbur used a word like “animosity.” Once he'd finished laughing to himself, he mulled over his brother's little speech. But before Wilbur could say anything, a shout rang out from the counter.

“Order for Wilbur!”

Tommy glanced at him expectantly. An idea popped into Wilbur's head, and he smiled innocently. “I ordered and paid,” he said lightly. “You go get it.”

All the light that had previously graced Tommy's face disappeared into a heavy scowl. But the blond boy stood without a word of complaint and shuffled off towards the counter. As Tommy approached the cashier, their ensuing conversation clearly reached Wilbur's ears in the mostly empty cafe.

“I'm here for the order.”

“Er, I think you heard me wrong. This is for a Wilbur; I took his order a few minutes ago.”

“Yeah, I know. I'm his brother. He sent me to get it.”

“Oh! I'm sorry about that. You two don't look-”

“S'fine. Thank you.”

A few seconds later, Tommy returned to their spot with a tray full of food. “I fucking hate you,” Tommy grumbled, settling back on his chair. “We're not even fucking brothers. I bet I don't share a single strand of DNA with you.”

“Everyone on this planet shares some of the same DNA, Tommy,” Wilbur snickered. Tommy shot him a venomous glare, so Wilbur shrugged innocently and took his soup from the tray.

They were quiet as they ate. Wilbur watched the traffic outside and listened to Tommy's soft mutters as the boy talked his way through his meal. It felt like it had been months since Wilbur had slowed down enough to eat a peaceful lunch. It was... nicer than he'd remembered.

Tommy suddenly flinched, breaking Wilbur out of his reverie. “Ah, shit,” the blond boy hissed. He glowered down at a piece of egg that sat on his jeans. “Fucking hell. Can I get-”

Wilbur placed a stack of napkins in his brother's outstretched hand before Tommy even finished his sentence.

“Oh. Thanks, Wilby.”

Wilbur choked on his soup. _Wilby?_ he wanted to demand, half out of amusement, half out of shock. However, his mouth was still full of soup, and all Wilbur could do was give his brother an incredulous look. Tommy glanced at him, then immediately looked away with a long-suffering groan, his cheeks already beginning to flush.

“Shut up,” Tommy muttered. “It's been a long couple of months.”

For once, Wilbur did as his little brother told him. He turned back to his soup with that same stupid grin stretching his face and his heart fluttering happily in his chest.

He was finally home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you feel so inclined, please leave a comment and let me know what you thought!
> 
> The next chapter of this story goes up tomorrow! (Yes, I'm impatient lol)


	2. Sing with Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My suggestion: listen to Since I Saw Vienna by Wilbur Soot on repeat as you're reading this one... yes, I'm serious. That's how I wrote it, and I promise it'll make the atmosphere 100x better lol.  
> .  
> .  
> .  
> 4\. In which music bonds a father and son together after time apart, even though one of them doesn't know shit about music.

Phil shoved himself away from the desk with a tired groan. He'd known that staying up late would be hell, but he hadn't thought that it would hurt _this_ much. His eyes were little more than pieces of sandpaper rolling around in his head.

 _I should have gone to bed,_ Phil thought wearily. _What time is it?_ He squinted at the corner of his computer. 1:56 am blinked cheerfully. _Jesus. At least it's Saturday. Going in would have been shit_.

Phil rose unsteadily, tapping the save button on his document before pushing his chair in. For some reason, everyone had decided to buy an iPhone 12 over the week. Phil didn't understand the reasoning, as there were no holidays anywhere in sight, but it had made his workdays pass more quickly. However, it also left the store with a shit-ton of paperwork that somehow always landed on his shoulders.

No matter. At least he was done for the weekend. Phil shook off the twinge of bitterness and shuffled across the room.

Beyond Phil's office, the hallway was dark. Tommy's and Techno's doors were both firmly shut, and for once, no slivers of lights poked out. Strange, given that both were inclined to staying up ridiculously late. But Phil wasn't complaining. If he didn't have to deal with a starving Tommy and a grumpy Techno both waking up at noon, all the better.

The hallway suddenly swam, and Phil blinked several times to clear his vision. Logically, he knew he should just go to bed. But his stomach growled loudly, despite being sated with dinner earlier in the evening. Phil sighed heavily. It wasn't too late to eat. He'd just make a sandwich or something, then go to bed.

 _No way that can go wrong,_ Phil thought dryly, padding down the hallway and descending the stairs.

He was so enraptured by the idea of a sandwich that he didn't notice that something was off until he reached the landing.

The light was on in the living room.

It took a painfully long time for Phil's brain to connect the dots. Once it finally processed the situation and provided him an explanation, Phil frowned. _What's Will doing up?_ he wondered, mildly worried. _He looked exhausted when he went to bed_.

Phil hurried down the stairs, then quickly crossed to the living room and peered inside. Wilbur sat in the middle of the room on a foldable chair, guitar in his lap and hands slowly strumming. The younger man's dark eyes were fixed on some intangible point in the distance.

“Khaki coat that I got,” Wilbur muttered, seemingly to himself. “No, no. That's not it. Khaki coat that I got from a... vendor? Fuck, almost had it.”

Wilbur abruptly stopped playing and twisted, scribbling something on a piece of paper that sat on his guitar case. It felt like a very intimate and private moment. But there was no chance that Phil could sneak around the kitchen without alerting Wilbur, and he didn't want to be greeted by a baseball bat to the head.

“Morning, Will,” Phil called hesitantly. Wilbur nearly toppled out of his chair, and Phil winced. “Sorry. I was trying not to scare you.”

“Phil!” Wilbur gasped. It seemed as if the dark-haired man had forgotten that he lived in a house with three other people (though, given Wilbur's prolonged stay in Manchester, Phil wouldn't have been surprised). “What the fuck are you doing up?”

Phil waved a vague hand at the staircase. “Working late,” he said weakly. His brain didn't have much computing power left after pouring over documents for several hours. “I needed a snack. What are _you_ doing?"

A crooked smile tipped Wilbur's lips. “Working late.”

Alright, he was in no danger of being assaulted. Phil waved a dismissive hand at Wilbur, which earned him an amused snort, then headed into the kitchen. He flipped on the lights, then set about making himself a cheese sandwich. As Phil tried his best not to impale himself with the butter knife, he kept one ear on Wilbur's mutterings.

“My shoes are from airports... shoes? Sandals? Fucking... whatever. That cute bomber jacket you've had since sixteen- no, shit, that's too long. Maybe a date, instead? No, that would sound fucking stupid. I can always change it later.”

By the time Phil managed to make himself a sandwich (with minimal casualties), Wilbur was still muttering. And damn it all, Phil refused to leave Wilbur alone in the wee hours of the morning. So Phil picked up his sandwich, blinked the sand out of his eyes, and headed back into the living room.

“Sounds good so far,” Phil noted as he settled onto the coffee table (which he really shouldn't be using as a chair). Wilbur blinked owlishly at him, and Phil jerked his chin at the guitar. “The song sounds good. How much of it have you finished?”

“Bits and pieces,” Wilbur said slowly. “Aren't you going to bed now?”

Phil shrugged. “I have to eat. Might as well sit here with you.”

“Phil...”

Phil flopped a hand at his son. “I'm not leaving you down here, Will. Either I sit here in silence and listen to you practice, or you get some of that fucking clutter out of your brain. You're carrying around a full storage unit in there.”

“The only man I know who describes a brain as a 'full storage unit,'” Wilbur muttered, but a small smile touched the dark-haired man's face. “Alright, fine. I'm supposed to be working on this... nostalgia piece. I was kinda homesick up in Manchester, and my producers liked how sad the song was. First of all, I preferred melancholy, but that's semantics. Anyway, now that I'm back... it's all gone. Literally, as soon as I talked to Tommy, I forgot everything.”

“He got to you that quick?” Phil chuckled. Wilbur made a face, but the lines around his dark eyes loosened. Phil let out a silent sigh of relief. Good.

“Of course Tommy got to me, he's had years of practice,” Wilbur muttered. The younger man plucked a couple of notes, then looked up. Sadness drifted over his face. “But I missed him. Missed all of you. I tried not to say anything when I visited, 'cause what's the point when I'm 5 hours away, and we all have busy lives? I'm just... glad to be back. Really glad.”

Wilbur's head drooped. The motion seemed notedly defeated, and Phil frowned, leaning forward a little. Now that he was really paying attention, Wilbur looked... haggard. Dark circles almost as dark as his eyes colored his face, and the younger man's hair had dulled far beyond its usual vibrant chocolate. Wilbur's very frame seemed thinner.

Phil carefully placed his sandwich on its plate, then shuffled closer to his son. “Were you taking care of yourself up there, Will?” he asked quietly. Wilbur said nothing, and worry curled tight hands around Phil's heart. “Will?”

For a long moment, Wilbur maintained his silence. Then, with a ragged sigh, the younger man met Phil's gaze.

“Not really,” Wilbur murmured. “I dunno. I didn't realize how weird it would be to be separated from you guys until I was gone. Being alone all the time wasn't as great as I'd thought it'd be.”

Phil's stomach twisted into tight little knots. He held out one arm invitingly, and after a moment's hesitation, Wilbur rose from his chair. As soon as Wilbur sat next to him, Phil wrapped an arm around the younger man's shoulders. Wilbur leaned into him with a weary sigh.

They had all missed Wilbur dearly. Tommy had been the most affected, but during some late nights, Phil had laid awake and worried for his son. Wilbur's infrequent visits had done little to alleviate Phil's concerns, mostly since Wilbur had barely talked about his life during those times.

But that wasn't a problem anymore. Wilbur was back – for a time, at least.

Phil gently squeezed Wilbur's arm, and the younger man glanced at him. “You were strumming when I came down here,” Phil noted, smiling faintly. “What was that?”

A matching tired smile spread across Wilbur's face. “It's the chorus,” the dark-haired man explained, gently pulling out of Phil's side hug. Phil reluctantly let him do so. “It was the first part of this song I wrote, actually.”

“Can I hear it?”

“Sure. Wait, wait, let me show you the lyrics first.”

Wilbur set his guitar aside and leaned forward, grabbing a packed binder from the floor. Phil watched bemusedly as his son flipped through what had to be hundreds of pages. Phil had never been much of a musical type, even after living with Wilbur for years. Now, seeing all the work that went into writing a single album... he was almost glad that the creative gene had skipped him.

Eventually, Wilbur yanked a paper from the binder with a triumphant noise. “Fucking finally,” the younger man grumbled. “Here.”

Phil carefully accepted the page that Wilbur held out. The piece of paper was ripped at the edges, and the lyrics were smudged after years of wear and tear. But the pencil scribbles were just clear enough to read.

“The roads are my home as horizon's my target,” Phil murmured. Emotions clogged his throat, and Phil swallowed thickly, trying his best to ignore the sudden tightness in his chest. “This is beautiful, Will.”

Fondness touched Wilbur's smile lines. “Thank you. I don't know quite know how I want it to go, but it sounds something like this.”

Wilbur rearranged his hands, settled his fingers behind the capo, and began to sing.

“ _The roads are my home as horizon’s my target. If I keep on moving, never lose sight of it, treating my memory of you like a fire; let it burn out, don’t fight it, and try to move on._ ”

One of the chords twanged. Phil jerked out of his trance, and Wilbur scowled, adjusting his hands as he swore quietly at his guitar. After a moment, the younger man started playing again. Phil knew that he should immerse himself in the music once again, but the lyrics had stuffed themselves into his throat and made it hard to breathe.

Wilbur sang with such bittersweet longing. Hearing such pure... angst in his son's voice broke something inside Phil that he'd never known existed. Clearly, the song had been written with no small amount of wanderlust.

Suddenly, Phil registered Wilbur's voice, and he snapped back to attention. “Sorry, what?” he asked sheepishly.

Wilbur had fixed him with a concerned frown. “So you didn't hear me,” the dark-haired man said. It was a sentence, not a question. “You alright, Phil? Should you go to bed?”

The answer was yes. Phil was rapidly fading, but he still stubbornly refused to leave before Wilbur felt better. So Phil said, “Nah, I'm fine,” and hoped that it was convincing enough.

It wasn't, as Wilbur immediately heaved a heavy sigh and dropped his hands from the guitar strings. “No, you're not,” Wilbur enunciated. The inflections made him sound eerily similar to Tommy, and Phil barely stifled a smile. “What's going on?"

Phil wasn't about to reveal how exhausted he was. So, instead of admitting that he was nearly falling asleep where he sat, Phil blurted out the next thing on his mind. “What inspired this song? I mean, you said that you wrote it about us, right? I guess... I never really thought about the fact that you were cooped up in here with three other people growing up.”

Several emotions flashed across Wilbur's face. Each disappeared before Phil could recognize them, and he suddenly worried that he'd accidentally touched on a sore spot.

“It was cramped, sometimes,” Wilbur admitted eventually. The dark-haired man plucked absently at his guitar, again acting incredibly reminiscent of Tommy. Phil blearily wondered how he'd never noticed the similarities between the two. “It got pretty busy in here,” Wilbur continued quietly. “But I didn't write this song because I wanted to get away from you guys. Once I got to Manchester, I just wanted to come home. But I couldn't, so I wished to be anywhere else. There's, uh...”

A small smile twitched Wilbur's lips. He grabbed the binder of papers once again, and his son's enthusiasm fanned the weak flame of relief in Phil's heart. At least Wilbur hadn't dreaded coming home. That would cut Phil apart in ways he couldn't even comprehend.

Wilbur pulled another sheet of music from his binder, interrupting Phil's train of thought. “Look at this,” Wilbur ordered. “I, uh... I kind of dedicated this verse to you guys.”

Again, Phil accepted the page. This one was considerably more well-kept than the first, though the lyrics had been scratched out and rewritten several times.

“Khaki coat that I got from a vendor when I was sixteen,” Phil read aloud. “My shoes are from airports, my backpack's from France.” A grin touched Phil's face before he could stop it, and he raised an eyebrow at his smiling son. “I remember that coat. We bought it when we were still in America. And the backpack?”

“It's the one I got during Techno's first trip to France,” Wilbur confirmed. Phil held out the paper, and Wilbur took it with a loving hand, carefully smoothing out the nonexistent creases. Phil bit back a smile at Wilbur's fondness for his own ideas. “The second line came from all those shoes that I bought online when we were stuck in Heathrow.”

Phil snorted. “Those weren't shoes, Will. Those were fucking boots. You bought, like, every pair that was on sale.”

Wilbur's dark eyes lit up, and the younger man frantically scribbled something on the paper. “Boots,” Wilbur muttered feverishly. “Thanks, Phil.”

“No problem,” Phil said bemusedly, not entirely sure of what he'd done.

For a few moments, they sat in silence. Wilbur continued to jot notes down, and Phil turned his attention back to the first paper that Wilbur had given him. He scanned the lyrics again, smiling to himself. Though the pain evident in each word made his chest ache, it was touching to know that Wilbur had written such a heartbreaking song while homesick.

A guitar chord suddenly rang out, and Phil flinched, startled.

“Sorry,” Wilbur mumbled. The dark-haired man had picked up his guitar and was glowering at the fretboard. “I'm just trying to figure out the pacing for the chorus.”

And really, all Phil wanted was to hear Wilbur sing some more. “Go right ahead.”

Melancholy notes filled the living room. Wilbur paused every few strums to adjust this or that, and Phil watched his son mutely. Wilbur's eyes shone as he worked. Even as tired as Phil was, he could tell that Wilbur had found his greatest passion in life. Seeing his kids full of life had always been Phil's greatest wish, and watching Wilbur pour his soul into his music made Phil feel... peaceful, in a way. He felt like he could die happy.

Not that Phil wanted to die anytime soon. He still had plenty more to do with his life.

After a few minutes of tweaking, the same strumming and plucking pattern emerged. Wilbur started to mutter the lyrics to himself, and suddenly, an idea popped into Phil's head. Had he been more awake, Phil probably would have stopped himself. But he was exhausted. So Phil waited until Wilbur repeated the chorus, then quietly joined in.

“ _The roads are my home as horizon’s my target. If I keep on moving, never lose sight of it, treating my memory of you like a fire; let it burn out, don’t fight it, and try to move on._ ”

Wilbur stopped. He glanced over, confusion glimmering in his eyes.

Phil just smiled faintly in response. “It’s a beautiful song,” he murmured.

A fond grin spread across Wilbur's face. The dark-haired man restarted his strumming, and again, they sang together. This time, though, a third voice joined theirs. Initially, Phil didn't even notice since he was focused on the lyrics. But then, both his and Wilbur's voices slipped into a higher register, and the lower tone became evident.

“ _It’s been sixty weeks since I saw Vienna; a bandage and a wide smile slapped across my face. I’ll pick up my hiking boots when I am ready, and I’ll put down my roots when I’m dead._ ”

As soon as he noticed the additional voice, Phil looked around for the source. For a moment, it seemed like they had a ghostly singing partner. Then Phil's gaze landed on the stairs.

Techno stood on the landing, arms propped against the railing as he gazed at Phil and Wilbur. Techno's long hair was for once loose, and dark bags hung under his eyes, but a warm smile decorated his face.

“How the hell do you know this song?” Wilbur asked. “I haven't said a word about it until tonight.”

Techno's smile widened, and the pink-haired man descended the stairs one silent step at a time. “You've done this every night since you got back,” Techno chuckled once he'd made his way over to Wilbur and Phil. “And I'm always awake at this time. It's kind of hard not to hear you."

Phil shot Wilbur an accusatory look. His son held his hands up innocently, and Phil sighed deeply. Honestly, did no one in their household have a decent sleep schedule?

Then again, Phil wasn't exactly one to talk. He was up at 2 am, just like everyone else.

“Since you're here, Techno,” Wilbur chirped, waving a hand at the pink-haired man. “One more time?”

Techno's eyes crinkled at the corners. “I'm not exactly a singer, Wilbur.”

“And I am?” Phil chipped in brightly. Techno leveled a half-hearted glare on him, and Phil chuckled, gently swiping at Techno's hand. “C'mon, just once. We sounded good together.”

Wilbur started the chorus again. Phil half-expected Techno to walk away with a roll of his eyes, but to his surprise (and delight), the pink-haired man just smiled.

“ _The roads are my home as horizon’s my target. If I keep on moving, never lose sight of it, treating my memory of you like a fire; let it burn out, don’t fight it, and try to move on. It’s been sixty weeks since I saw Vienna; a bandage and a wide smile slapped across my face. I’ll pick up my hiking boots when I am ready, and I’ll put down my roots when I’m dead._ ”

The stairs creaked.

Phil glanced at the staircase and found Tommy sitting on the landing, watching them with shining eyes. Somehow, it didn't surprise Phil to see the blond boy there. Maybe he'd subconsciously noticed. “Did we sound any good?” Phil called.

Tommy nodded several times. “Yeah,” the blond boy laughed. It had been years since Phil had heard Tommy's voice sound so... soft. “You guys should record this song together. It would be a hit.”

“Not a chance,” Techno instantly protested, and Wilbur burst out laughing. “What? Wilbur, I'd choke as soon as I stepped foot inside a recording studio. I can't even use a microphone!”

Wilbur and Techno continued their argument over Techno's singing prowess, and Phil let his eyes flutter shut. With all four of them in the house again... it really felt like home.

“Hey, Philza?”

Phil cracked open an eye and found Tommy standing at his side, watching Wilbur and Techno with a crooked grin.

“Is this what you mean about home?” Tommy murmured. “All that shit you've told me about family... this is what you meant, isn't it?”

Wilbur slapped playfully at Techno's hand, and the pink-haired man recoiled with a disgusted snort. Phil shook his head at the bickering pair before turning a warm smile on his youngest son. “Yeah,” he chuckled. “It is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you feel so inclined, please leave a comment and let me know what you thought! Comments absolutely make my day <3
> 
> Third chapter comes out tomorrow! Or... perhaps Monday... we shall see.


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